“Come now, Mrs. Rupert. I’ve seen the alcove. There’s not even a chair in there.”

“Nonetheless, I-”

“That’s where you meet your blackmail victims, isn’t it?”

Her head turned, at a small but unnatural angle. “Excuse me?”

“That’s where you meet the multitude of parishioners-the ones you love like brothers and sisters-who you’re blackmailing!” He said the word nice and loud, so everyone could hear it. “Right?”

“I-I sometimes meet people there. But I certainly never-”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to deny that you’re blackmailing several members of the church.”

“I-I do deny it. I would never-”

“I have witnesses, Mrs. Rupert.” Out the corner of his eye, he could see the jury leaning forward, craning their necks with interest. “Two members of my staff have observed you shaking someone down. I’ve witnessed it. I’ve seen you running off after services, or during choir practice, clutching your little blue account book. Where is that, anyway?”

She had reflexively glanced down at her lap before she could stop herself. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s in your purse, isn’t it? I figured as much; as far as I can tell you never go anywhere without it. Show it to the jury, Mrs. Rupert.”

“I have to object,” Canelli said. “These groundless accusations have nothing to do with the murder.”

“I think the relevance will be clear soon,” Ben replied, “if it isn’t already.”

Judge Pitcock nodded. “I’ll allow defense counsel some latitude. Proceed.”

“So what about it, Mrs. Rupert? Do you have your account book in your purse?”

She hesitated, obviously unsure what to say. “I… don’t really know…”

“Well, why don’t you take a look and see? I’m betting you do.”

She glanced at the judge. “No one told me my… purse would be searched. Can he do this?”

“I’m afraid he can, ma’am. If you brought it into the courtroom, it’s fair game.”

A frown settled on her face. She looked down, looked up, looked down again. Slowly her hand crept toward her handbag.

And emerged a few moments later holding the little blue book.

“May I approach?” Ben asked. The judge nodded. Ben strode forward, snatched the book, and began rifling through the pages.

“Lots of accounts in here, I see. Labeled by initials, rather than names. How discreet.” He held the pages up so the jury could see. “Looks to me like you’ve collected ten, maybe fifteen thousand dollars over the last few years.” He placed the book on the barrier between himself and the jury. “Are you still going to try to deny your blackmail operation, Mrs. Rupert?”

“It’s isn’t blackmail. I just-I like to lend money to people when they need it. To help out.”

“Oh, so this is a charitable operation, is it?”

“Well… not exactly. They pay back the money over time.”

“And then some, judging from this book.”

“Charging interest is traditional. That doesn’t make it blackmail.”

Ben moved in closer. “So if I call Alvin Greene or Paul Masterson to the stand, they’ll testify that you lent them money out of the kindness of your heart?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

“Shall we test that theory?”

Her eyes darted around the courtroom. Ben could see the wheels turning inside her head. Could he make good his threat? What would happen if he did?

“Tell the truth, Mrs. Rupert. Because I’m prepared to call everyone in your book to the stand if necessary. And now that the secret’s out, someone’s likely to tell the truth.”

Ernestine licked her lips pensively. She still didn’t answer.

“This didn’t have anything to do with lending money, did it? Much less charity. These aren’t interest payments you’re keeping track of. It’s blackmail! Admit it!”

Ernestine shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Make him stop,” she said quietly. “Won’t someone make him stop?”

“You spent your whole time at that church collecting information you could use to extract your blood money. You’d go to church socials and teas and dig around and gossip till you learned what you needed. Some tidbit about somebody’s past, or sexual preference, or whatever dark secret they didn’t want revealed, especially at church. And you’d use that to milk them dry.”

“It isn’t true.” She was talking more to herself than anyone else. “It isn’t.”

She was visibly shaken. Now was the time to tie it all back to the case. “But you know what initials I don’t see in this book? D.B. And that’s why you hated Father Beale, isn’t it? You couldn’t control him like you did the others. He wasn’t in the club. What’s more, if he ever found out about it, you knew he’d put an end to it. And you’d be without this lovely little income stream. So he became the enemy.”

Ernestine’s face was blotching. “It isn’t so. That isn’t-”

“And that’s why you’re testifying against him now, isn’t it? That’s why you’re so bound and determined to say whatever it takes to get him out and get in some other priest you can control. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? You’re protecting your dirty little extortion racket.”

Ernestine twisted around, breathing rapidly. “You’re wrong. That isn’t why.”

“So says the blackmailer. But how can we believe anything you say? You’re a major felon.”

“I-I don’t-”

“Tell us the truth, Ernestine. You hate Father Beale, don’t you? You hate him so much you’ll do or say anything to get rid of him.”

“Yes!” she said, with a sudden shattering intensity. “Yes, I hate him!”

“Because you were afraid he’d quash your dirty blackmail scheme.”

“Because he destroyed our church!”

“Because you couldn’t control him.”

“Because he’s had sex with every woman he could get his filthy hands on!” Her voice echoed through the courtroom, leaving only stunned silence in its wake.

Ben took a step back. “Because-what-”

“You heard what I said. He’s been with all of them. All the women who died. And many more.”

Ben moved fast to control the damage. “If you think you can exonerate yourself by telling more lies, you’ve-”

“It isn’t a lie. It’s the truth.”

“Your honor,” Ben said, “I move to strike. The witness is not being responsive. This is just character assassination!”

Judge Pitcock shook his head. “Sorry, counsel. You opened the door to this. Overruled.”

Ben redirected his fury at the witness. “Do you have any proof of your scurrilous accusations?”

“I don’t need proof.”

“If you don’t have any proof, then keep your-”

“Ask anyone. Anyone!”

“Is this something you’ve actually witnessed, or are you just circulating more ugly gossip? Maybe you’re hoping you can add Father Beale to your blackmail list after all.”

“Ask Carol!” she said, pointing to a woman in the rear of the gallery. “Ask anyone!” She was leaning forward, screaming. “We don’t talk about it, because everyone’s involved. Because he’s had sex with so many of them. And he’s dragged everyone else down into his dirty game.”

Ben could feel the trial spiraling out of his control. How had this happened?

He glanced back at Father Beale. His face was expressionless, but there were crinkles around his eyes that Ben didn’t know how to read.

And behind him, in the gallery, his wife, Andrea, sat, her face covered with tears. She bent forward and buried her face in her hands.

“It’s true,” Ernestine repeated unbidden. “Ask anyone. Anyone at all.”

Ben had to get rid of this woman, and quick. Whatever good he may have done before was unraveling at the speed of light. “No more questions, your honor.”

“It’s true! Ask anyone!”

“No more questions!”

Judge Pitcock excused Ernestine from the witness stand, but even after she was gone, Ben could hear her words echoing in his brain. And he was certain they were rattling around in the jurors’ brains as well.

It’s true! Ask anyone! He wanted to ask Father Beale, but he couldn’t talk to him, not now, not while the jury was watching. He had to act as if this were no great surprise, as if he already knew there was nothing to it. Even though the cold chill creeping up his spine told him this trial had just hit a snag he wasn’t going to be able to finesse his way around.